#depreciating - Hello Poetry

I miss the roar of the fires... The warmth of the flame that fuels the luscious red in me. I despise the wiles of indifferent clocks, the incessant ticking... That eats into skin and bone. I anticipate the return of colour. For all I see, only lingers within the seemingly infinite levels of grey. But I loathe the notion... That when that time would finally arrive, all would’ve turned to stone.

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Oct 26, 2017

Oct 26, 2017 at 6:24 AM UTC

ryn

Depreciating

I miss the roar of the fires... The warmth of the flame that fuels the luscious red in me. I despise the wiles of indifferent clocks, the incessant ticking... That eats into skin and bone. I anticipate the return of colour. For all I see, only lingers within the seemingly infinite levels of grey. But I loathe the notion... That when that time would finally arrive, all would’ve turned to stone.

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I am a poet And as such, a fool For it's stories they want Great tales, heroes too They want lies and adventure They don't bother with poems They'd rather read trash They want gossip and news They don't want the truth They equate poems to math Poetry is bland Too tasteless No ACTION Give us the movies, the tv, the game Yet, so am I guilty the same, I admit Great poets have stayed In history writ But what of today? I can't name one poet now Were I not a poet! Would I even know how?

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Nov 17, 2015

Nov 17, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC

Foxgopher

I Am a Poet

I am a poet And as such, a fool For it's stories they want Great tales, heroes too They want lies and adventure They don't bother with poems They'd rather read trash They want gossip and news They don't want the truth They equate poems to math Poetry is bland Too tasteless No ACTION Give us the movies, the tv, the game Yet, so am I guilty the same, I admit Great poets have stayed In history writ But what of today? I can't name one poet now Were I not a poet! Would I even know how?

22

Wow, what even is this? Terrible, terrible. Why do you even bother, it’s no good Thanks, now get out. I admit I’m not the next Frost I may not even be the next anyone. So, without further ado, I’m sorry. I apologize. I’m sorry Blake, Burns, Wordsworth. I’m sorry Poe, Frost, Ginsburg. I’m sorry Plath, Petersen, Bremer. I’m sorry Church, Winter, Dychkowski. I don’t measure up, I don’t even rhyme Selfishness is my reason for this Feelings on paper and thoughts in obscurity All written without form, no scheme Is it real if it doesn’t make sense? I’m not stopping, no, I’ll persevere But I offer up these apologies to those who are poets Somehow I got labeled with you Somehow I ended up here. Poetry. My one stay. An escape I can always turn to. I’m sorry. My apologies. Forgive my excuse.

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Nov 17, 2015

Nov 17, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC

Foxgopher

With Aplogies to Poetry

Wow, what even is this? Terrible, terrible. Why do you even bother, it’s no good Thanks, now get out. I admit I’m not the next Frost I may not even be the next anyone. So, without further ado, I’m sorry. I apologize. I’m sorry Blake, Burns, Wordsworth. I’m sorry Poe, Frost, Ginsburg. I’m sorry Plath, Petersen, Bremer. I’m sorry Church, Winter, Dychkowski. I don’t measure up, I don’t even rhyme Selfishness is my reason for this Feelings on paper and thoughts in obscurity All written without form, no scheme Is it real if it doesn’t make sense? I’m not stopping, no, I’ll persevere But I offer up these apologies to those who are poets Somehow I got labeled with you Somehow I ended up here. Poetry. My one stay. An escape I can always turn to. I’m sorry. My apologies. Forgive my excuse.

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